


The Long Journey Home

by viceversa



Category: The Fall (TV 2013), The X-Files
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mulder is Dead, Slow Burn, Trauma Recovery, Yes Mulder is actually dead get over it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-01-06 01:45:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18378401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceversa/pseuds/viceversa
Summary: In Washington D.C., Dana Scully tries to survive after a tragic loss, but finds that a life alone is unfulfilling. In London, Stella Gibson feels adrift after a long and traumatizing case in Belfast. At a conference in Los Angeles, the two women meet and help each other heal.





	1. Scully's Prologue: What is life after loss?

_Virginia | Fall & Winter 2008_

There was a certain passivity to life one feels when the love of their life was dead. Waking up early? Laundry? Rote, cyclical patterns of days and weeks passing in a blink? Sure. Why not. It wasn’t like breaking up, returning to a single life, living with only memory. Scully would’ve preferred that.

Now, there was nothing else to do but work and survive.

It wasn’t a feeling of being adrift, per se. Dana Scully would know. She’d felt that before, completely lost, unanchored, searching. This time there was nothing to search for. Mulder was dead. Really, very dead this time. No conspiracy. No mysterious disappearance. No heroic fake death or long absence. It happened right in front of her, and it was pedestrian, earthly, simple.

After over a decade of knowing one another, fifteen years of being by her side, Mulder dropped dead from a heart attack at the age of forty-seven. Of almost forty-seven. It was only August, after all.

It should’ve been an anomaly. He was so young. But as the autopsy had shown, the years of horrible things that were done to him weakened his heart muscle. It was too thin, too worn out. It failed him. It almost killed her.

It was the hardest winter Scully had ever faced in her life. She took bereavement time at work, then more when it wasn’t enough. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years passed in a blur while she was alone in their unremarkable home – remarkable now in its emptiness. No longer a home in any sense of comfort and belonging. It was quiet, cold, drafty – just a house where she tried to sleep, tried to live on. A primal, desperate part of Scully wished he’d come back from the dead and haunt her, crawl his way out of his grave and maim her, drag her in with him, but she knew he would haunt her heart forever. There was a place in her, a carved out home, just for him. Forever. His life would live on with her.

Scully tried to comfort herself with the fact that he had died happy. The happiest he’d been in years, in a lifetime. That he died with his most desperate questions answered. That he didn’t die alone, he was in her arms the whole time, on a beautiful day in August. That he’d died with a smile on his face, fighting through the pain, trying to comfort Scully.

He was with Samantha now, at peace in starlight.

Scully had never felt more alone.

-

She tries her best to cope. She takes her time with mourning, knowing how it felt to rush through the absence of a loved one. After her father died she went straight back to work, distracting herself from feeling the emotions. After her sister was murdered in her own home, she did the same. Cracks appeared in her walls and she just built them higher and stronger.

Then Emily. And then Mulder. And then her son, their son, not dead but gone. Gone for good. And then Mulder was back but, _God, at what cost_? They thrived, through it all, despite it all. They got their answers, they did some good in the world. They made a place for themselves, a home in which to love and be loved.

And then Mulder died, too young. Happy for only a fraction of his time on Earth.

So, this time, Scully mourns. She mourns because she knows that this time, it’s for real. She takes the time to process and heal that she never took before. She can’t throw herself into her work, because even at the hospital she’s reminded of Mulder. She’s reminded of him everywhere, all the time. She carries him actively in her heart.

She takes a leave of absence, a sabbatical from working at the hospital. She shuts herself off from the world, for a while, then starts to attend church again. It helps, a little, but not enough to keep going each week. She goes to a therapist.

She wallows. She has good days. Great days. And horrible ones. She goes a week without sleeping, and the next week she can’t get out of bed. Months after, she meets Skinner for coffee. They spend most of their meeting in silence, and then in fond memories.

It’s good, she thinks. To remember without hurting so much.

-

_D.C. Area, Early 2009_

Months passed, winter more harsh against her numb skin than ever before, and she decided that she couldn’t live in their house any longer, not alone. She busied herself with cleaning, organizing, selling. It felt… not _good_ good, but good to be doing something. To make decisions again.

Her sabbatical at work ended quickly, but she couldn’t go back – not to helping living people, she wasn’t ready – so she quit. She’d never been so alone, so independent with her choices. No job. No family. No connections or commitments. Plenty of money. Mulder made sure she would be well taken care of and then some. Scully thinks about getting a dog.

Their things went as she cleaned, one by one. She kept what is most important to her. Pictures. Mementos. Mulder’s favorite shirt, his favorite movies, his mug and his jacket and, _God_ , anything she couldn’t bear to part with. She cried when someone took his couch away.

The house sold in the summer to a family with young children. New life, to fill the emptiness that had plagued the home in his absence. Scully found a small apartment in the city, somewhere to rest as she took on a job as a pathologist for the district that she was easily overqualified for. She consults sometimes on cases, and it’s almost like old times.

Once, she was tempted to go back to the bureau permanently, but it felt too much like trying to move back into your childhood home. She’d outgrown it, it would be like she was haunting her own past.

But she helps with murder cases, she uncovers the truth, she throws herself into the pursuit of justice fully.

Sometimes, when it’s too late to go home, she sleeps in her office and dreams of Mulder. He comforts her, tells her to eat more than plain salad and coffee, reminds her to get some sunlight and call her mother. He tells her that he loves her, and he just wants her to be happy.

Scully always wakes up crying, and she doesn’t remember why.


	2. Stella's Prologue: What is Justice, Really?

_London, England, October 2010_

DSI Stella Gibson had felt depression before, had struggled with it and through it. It’s a chronic affliction, but Stella knew her triggers and the best methods to deal with it, to work through it. She’d felt anxiety as well, hopelessness, pain, anger, existential dread. She developed coping mechanisms. Sleeping with random men, seducing beautiful women at bars, drinking, extravagant meals.

Snapping a tight hair band around her wrist, over and over and over, until she could think again.

They worked for her. She’d always made it through. However, she’d never felt all of them, all at once, to this extent. A freight train.

It was a numbing effect, really. Back in her flat after a silent drive through London, noticing nothing much had changed while she was gone. The flowers on her counter were wilted, dead. The mail piled up. There was a stale smell in the air, and the temperature was cold to save on heating costs while away.

She was gone for a long time. Weeks over her original plans. It felt as though she had lived an entire life there. Like she had died an entire death.

A glass of wine, the note pinned to the board in her kitchen, a reminder. Not that she needed a reminder any more than the healing marks on her face, the pain in her ribs. The attack on her was fresh in her mind, and it would be for God knows how long to come. She can hear the sickening crunch of his fist on her face, the hard edge of the table as she fell, the feeling of _retreat, retreat, find a safe space_. Complete, utter panic. Complete, utter helplessness. Blood in her eyes, her mouth, the cold, hard floor under her.

Fleetingly, Tom, trying to help, but she was still stuck in _no, God, retreat, stop, defend._

She sipped her wine instead, thankful for the caution of a soft diet until she healed. Dr. O’Donnell was the biggest help, staying with her, talking to her, asking nonsense and important questions. She’ll always be grateful to him for that.

A scar, on her eyebrow. A reminder. A cautionary tale of angry men, enabled to exist in the world without anything stopping them.

Stella sat at her kitchen island for a long time, sipping at the too-large glass of wine, filling it again once more. She tried to come back to herself, read her mail, feel present and safe in her own home. Away from Belfast. Away from her job, mandatory leave, two weeks, while the investigation into her handling of the case was ongoing. She was available for phone interviews.

No one needed to see her like this.

Stella sighed, too far into the absolute shitshow of this case to even worry about it any further. She’d either get reprimanded, or dismissed from her position. Maybe they would transfer her. Maybe nothing would happen at all. She thought about Sally Ann Spector, in a mental institution, her children taken from her, her life decimated. The spiderweb of pain that Peter Paul Spector was mastermind of reached far and deep. Was she close to the center? Or was she just a passing victim? Time would tell.

-

Doubt crept in, easily. Being under review on a case she herself was sent to review, that she led in the direction of a solve—it was torture. She let it show, the duress, when she was alone. Stella cried in her bathtub. She ordered wine and steak delivered from her favorite restaurant, pizza from her favorite store.

Stella was smart with her emotions, most of the time. She knew that they had to come out one way or another, and alone and safe in her home was better than in front of a review board looking at pictures of the dead. So, she cried for the victims, living and dead. She cried for herself. She cried for crying’s sake. It was healthy. Healthier than adding to the small collection of scars on her thighs, on her feet.

She made an appointment with her therapist, a woman named Abby that she’d been seeing for years, off and on, when needed. This was needed.

With a shaking hand the night she came home, after a fortifying glass of wine, she started writing in her diary again. Her real diary, not her dream one. She filled eight pages with writing that night, a summary of events, of thoughts. Her anger, fear, pain, loneliness, guilt, written plainly in front of her eyes, trying to make sense of it all, and chapters of hopes and fears and demons after that.

The two weeks of suspension followed much the same. She stayed home, mainly. Cleaning. Cooking. Drinking wine and writing. Her eye would catch at the sight of the quote written on a 20, _He who loves not, abides in death_.

She wondered how Spector saw it, what it meant to him, who gave it to him. If it contributed to him killing himself, or if she was to blame. _It’s time to grow up Paul._ She told him she only wanted him to live to pay for his crimes. Maybe he saw the ultimate out as an escape. Maybe as his true punishment.

A huge, inseparable part of her was devastated at his death. Everything she believes, in all that she works for, is to bring bad people to justice. And he took that from her. A smaller, but strong part of her was relieved that he was gone, that he would never, ever hurt more people directly again.

It was the indirectly that was causing her problems.

The reviews went through, she was given a formal warning in her file but ultimately not found at fault. She felt at fault, for Rose Stagg, for Spector’s suicide. For Sally Ann and her poor children. But she couldn’t be brought to justice in her own role in events. Stella couldn’t be charged with being human, even if she felt like she deserved it.

Instead she did what anyone could do in the face of such pain and trauma. She lived on. She went back to work under her warning, confined to her office, consulting only remotely, keeping to herself. Except when she went to a bar and went home with a suitor for the evening. Then never again. Except when she had to get groceries and wine, and then she was back home.

Stella was stuck, in a loop, under an oppressive glass case she couldn’t escape, mindlessly pushing papers around, consulting over the phone, actively dissociating from her inner self. She just didn’t know how to reconnect.

He who loves not abides in death. She who has no one to love doesn’t fear it.

-

_Washington, D.C. October 2010_

Scully’s work as a pathologist was, in its own ways, both rewarding and comforting. After years of unexplained, unbelievable phenomena, it was refreshing to see that it wasn’t the norm. Most people died of normal illnesses; cancer, pneumonia, old age. Heart attack.

It was rewarding in that she provided answers where none were. How did this person die? What went wrong? How can we prevent this from happening next time? She worked in death to find those answers. Sometimes, she helped with cases, consulting with other MEs or doing the autopsies herself.

A year and a half in of working as a local ME was a comfort. It proved to her that she was okay alone. That she could still help people, that she could still function. She’d made friends here, well. As many friends as one could make in a morgue. Theo Redding, her boss, was a kind older man, and she’d had dinner with him and his wife a handful of times. They always made pleasant conversation about their children and grandchildren, and Scully was always polite, happy to be there. Her assistants were nice, but they didn’t stay long, only there for school internships.

Redding made a habit of stopping by her office to offer dinner invitations and reminders to break for lunch. This time, he’d had something different to offer.

 “A conference?”

“A big one,” Redding replied. “I think it would be a good opportunity for you. You’re getting back in the pathology game. It’ll be good for your CV. Networking, connections, all that stuff.”

“But,” Scully looked up, confused, “you’re not requiring it? And, Theo, I don’t plan on leaving this job anytime soon.”

“No, of course not. You and I both know you’re overqualified for this job, Dana. It just… this might do you some good. It could be _fun_. And, not saying our job isn’t already a barrel of laughs, it’s good to go to these things for a refresher. And it will be even better for me, with our department having representation there. Then _I_ can put that on _my_ CV. And I don’t have to fly across the country to do it.”

Scully looked back down at the flyer. Los Angeles. One week. The ICC - International Crime Conference.

She could take a weekend see Bill, the kids. Her mom, who had moved out to be closer to her grandkids. Away from her.

“Okay,” she said, surprised at her own willingness to stray from her very established routine. “I’ll let you know.” She smiled genuinely at Redding as he left.

A tiny spark in her chest had her confused at first, and then she realized it was excitement. She’d been stuck here, in a basement with corpses, in D.C., for over a year. She hadn’t gone anywhere, she hadn’t tried to socialize. This could be her chance at a new start, a practice round. Make a friend or two, network with the best of them, aim at a normal life again. She considered the irony of trying to make work friends at an international conference, but something was better than the nothing she had right now. God, the last really good friend she made was Mulder, and look how that turned out.

The thought made her smile.

She would go to this conference and try to function out in the world, amongst people, again. Plus, as Redding said, it was good for her resume. If she was truly throwing herself into her work, she might as well give it her all and be the best damn local ME anyone had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr @viceversawrites !  
> (also just play along timeline-wise for this, I obviously had to change a few things).


	3. Networking

_ICC, Los Angeles, November 2010_

The long weekend had done Scully a world of good. It was easy, when away from her family for so long, to think that she was better off without their presence. Where phone and email conversations seemed invasive or annoying after a time, face to face catching up was a breath of fresh air that Scully had no idea she needed. Her nephews were so grown up, her brother calmer in his later life, and her mother glowed in the climate of California.

In fact, she enjoyed her visit in San Diego so much that she decided to skip the inclusive welcome dinner that began the conference, and instead arrived the next morning ready to attend and learn and network with the best of them. The high from visiting her family quickly fled as she looked around at all the unfamiliar faces in the conference building. It was attached to the hotel, so professionals with already-established networks and friends at the conference were around every corner. It didn’t take long to feel completely alone again, adrift in a sea of people who seemed to know exactly what they were doing with their lives.

She settled in her single room that morning after picking up her name tag and assorted information packets at the late check-in desk. Scully suddenly wished that Theo had come, or even one of the interns or other MEs at her firm, but she was alone. As notoriously clique-y as medical school was, the world of law enforcement was ten times as hierarchical. She’d had to learn quickly how to talk and behave and how not to behave in the boy’s club of the FBI, and she mentally put that defensive wall up around her again before heading out to the first lecture.

Maybe this week would just sail by, and she’d be back home in D.C. before she knew it. She stifled the thought. Scully knew that she didn’t have a home to return to excitedly. There wasn’t a yard and a picket fence, not that she’d ever been one to like that kind of thing. Her apartment in D.C. was small and tidy, perfectly respectable by all accounts. But, as she settled in that morning, she couldn’t help but to compare it to the feeling of her hotel room, impersonal and utilitarian. Scully sighed, gathered her conference things, and made her way to the first lecture.

-

_ICC, Los Angeles, November 2010_

Stella Gibson was not a fan of having to be somewhere she did not want to be. She was a rebel at heart, she always had been, but here she was complying with the orders she’d just been given. After a week and a half back at work, at desk duty, she’d been told she’d be attending a conference in the States. Told, not asked. Stella took it for what it was, one more punishment for trying her best, and took the plane ticket with no argument.

It had been years since she’d been to the US, and much less for a conference lasting one week. She’d done a study abroad trip during university, staying in New York City for most of a summer. Back then it had been a vacation, a trip for fun and mischief. Now it felt like she was running away – away from a job that she couldn’t do anymore, from peers who didn’t respect her. Who never would. She was the burden, she was told to go away and come back different, come back like the old Stella. She wasn’t that Stella now. She didn’t know if she’d ever be.

Escapism had never treated Stella particularly well. These days it usually came in the form of a mental escape with the help of wine or sex. As short as those dives into relief had been, the jump back to reality had always hit harder. This felt like she was trying to escape her own mind with a transcontinental flight and a conference where she didn’t know anyone. It would feel more surreal if she hadn’t been forced into it by her supervisors.

Stella hadn’t been to a conference in years either. She remembered from her graduate days, back when she thought anthropology was the field for her. She’d been so wrong – or maybe not. Rubbing elbows and brownnosing the mass of law enforcement at this style of conference was not in her books as a fun experience, and she almost decided to ditch the conference all together and explore the coast of California with her paid time off. But something in her, something too lifeless to really have the energy and drive to seek out fun, made her attend the boring welcome dinner, made her get up early with everyone else and walk in a trance to the first speech of the day.

-

Dana Scully entered the lecture hall and looked for a seat near the back. She didn’t feel like interacting with the presenter, and heaven forbid she was forced to sit next to someone chatty. Twice on the way she’d been stopped in the hall by old colleagues and was forced to explain why she wasn’t “Special Agent” any longer, and where that partner of hers was. The interactions had gone well, but she was already dreading that more would come during the week.

Scully wasn’t in the mood to make friends, and barely believed that networking would benefit her. But Theo had wanted her to come here, so she was going to make the most of it. Luckily, there was an open seat next to a small blonde woman at the end of a row.

Scully approached her quickly, wanting to sit before the presentation began. “Excuse me, is this seat open?” She had to work to get her voice loud enough over the chattering crowd

The woman was staring straight ahead, seemingly in her own world, and didn’t respond. Scully tutted and tried again, a little louder. “Hi, do you mind?” She finally got the attention of the woman in her way. 

Scully almost took a step back. The raw power behind those eyes was nothing to mess with, and she had a fleeting thought of leaving back to the hotel, but she stood her ground. “Is that seat free?”

As intense as the woman’s stare had begun, it almost immediately softened and she leaned her legs to the side, letting Scully pass her. “Of course.”

Scully nodded her polite thanks and took her seat, arranging her blank notebook on her crossed legs and settling in for the presentation. It didn’t escape her notice that she was practically in the same position as the woman next to her, legs crossed, staring straight ahead, silent. Scully wondered why this woman had made an impression to begin with. Other than being intimidating at first, she had probably gone back into her own world. Maybe she was completely normal and boring, and Scully was just off her game, but she was suddenly curious about her. Was she here alone, just like Scully? Did she know people, was she new? Where was she from? Where did that intensity, that flash of power from her eyes, come from?

Scully glanced to her right and found the woman looking at her out of the corner of her eyes instead. They both looked ahead at the same time, and heat rose on her cheeks as Scully felt childishly embarrassed at the circumstance. What was she trying to do? She was saved by the bell, as it were, when the presentation began.

A nondescript man walked on stage, pushing up his glasses as he looked at the crowd. “Hello and welcome to the sixth annual International Crime Conference.” There was a smattering of applause. “I say it every year, but the title sounds like we’re all here to do crime instead of prevent it.” Polite laughter. “I realize this is early in the morning, but I hope the fresh-faced enthusiasm of it being the first day makes this session great for us all. My name is Paul Har—”

Scully’s attention was broken by the woman next to her flinching. She looked over in concern, but the blonde was already back to staring ahead like nothing had happened. Scully was concerned, and more than a little curious about this woman. She drifted back to listening to the man speak, only managing to catch half of what he was talking about, her notes barely started.

“But enough talking about it. Networking is about practice! I know we all did it plenty when we first started out but that was five, ten, fifteen, even twenty years ago for some of our more distinguished in this room! Just as we shouldn’t neglect the practice for those still learning beneath us, we shouldn’t neglect the experience for ourselves. So,” Harring clicked to the next slide. “Everyone turn to the person you’re sitting next to— _or your closest stranger!—_ and follow the steps listed here that we’ve covered. Network with your stranger and remember to take notes and exchange business cards if you have them!”

The room erupted in noise once again, and Scully reluctantly turned to the mysterious blonde next to her.

“Hello.” Scully had to get her attention. Even through the loud noise of the room, the woman next to her had still been staring off into space.

The woman started slightly and turned to Scully as well. Why was she so jumpy? Was she nervous, for some reason?

“Oh, hello. Forgive me, I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Scully noticed several things about her stranger. One, most glaringly, that she was British, and the other being that that was not how a nervous person spoke. Something deeper was going on underneath, and Scully was willing to bet it was the same something that produced that fire in her eyes earlier. She shook off her contemplation and introduced herself. “I’m Dana Scully, I’m a pathologist from D.C.”

Scully stuck out her hand for the stranger to shake. While she only half listened to the lecture, she still remembered perfectly well how to network. She wasn’t that out of practice. 

“Stella Gibson, DSI. London.” Stella shook Scully’s hand and glanced surreptitiously at the projected instructions at the front of the room. “Are we just supposed to talk to each other?”

Scully laughed lightly. “Detective,” she started.

“Stella, please.”

“Stella, I’m glad I wasn’t the only one not paying attention.”

Stella smiled for half a second, but Scully saw it.


	4. Liminality and Focus

_ICC, Los Angeles, November 2010_

Conferences, like any other time away from your normal routine, existed in liminal spaces. A conference room was a place that people passed through, not one for settling or making permanent memories and connections. It was like being trapped overnight at an airport, or staying a little too long in a late-night diner. It was freeing, some base recognition of not being on a schedule, of doing as you please. But there was always reality looming, waiting to attack.

Dr. Dana Scully, pathologist from Washington, D.C., would not leave Stella’s mind. Or her presence, apparently. They pretended to network in the first conference, but Stella could tell it was more a ploy for them both to get information out of the other. Subconsciously or not, years of investigative work lent itself toward casual interrogation.

Stella learned a lot about Dr. Scully, _Dana, please_ , in their short conversation. She’d been an agent in the FBI for a long time, and now was strictly a pathologist. She grew up on this side of the country, and her family still lived here while she was on the east coast. Tellingly, she didn’t mention a husband or partner – no kids or pets or disturbing hobbies. She was likely a single woman, divorced or widowed, who lived alone. Was it her choice? Or a product of circumstance?

Dana Scully seemed the picture of maturity and professionalism, but something behind her wall compelled Stella to keep her interest.

It wasn’t hard to do so, because for the rest of the day they attended the same lectures. Stella noticed their schedule alignment quickly and offered to walk with Dana to each of them, an offer readily accepted. It seemed they were both alone at this conference, and it was remarkably less horrible to spend the day listening to lectures on things they already knew when they weren’t alone, especially when the lectures included activities where you needed a partner.

At the end of the day, after awkwardly bumping into each other in order to avoid bumping into other conference-goers, Stella gently took Dana’s arm and guided her to a quiet area just off the main hallway. Her motivations were not pure – she wasn’t here to make forever friends. She did, however, want to know more about this intriguing woman, and maybe get to know her in the more carnal sense this week, if that were an option.

She was almost healed enough to really go for it now, really, she was _fine_ , she felt _good_ and _bold_ again. This would be a good thing to do. A healing thing.

“Dana, would you like to get dinner?” Stella unconsciously straightened as she asked, channeling that power that made it very hard for anyone to say no to her. Not that it was necessary for Dana to say yes.

Dana looked a little caught off guard, as if she was fully prepared to go back to her hotel room and maybe see Stella the next day, or maybe not. “Oh! Sure we can – would you like to meet in the lobby in, say, an hour? I’m sure we can find something close.”

Stella smiled down at her, using the slight height advantage her heels gave her to her advantage, and they walked back to the hotel area together, parting only when Dana exited the elevator first. Conferences like this were set apart from reality, just like any other escape. One day felt like an eternity, and eight hours with Dana Scully felt like a lifetime and a second, all at once. Stella found that she didn’t want it to end. But then, she didn’t know if she wanted it to continue.

Once in her room, she kicked off her heels and fell on to the bed as the tension of a conference day rushed to the surface. As she landed, the twinge in her side made recent events crash back into her head, leading her to doubt what she wanted again. What would this night lead to? What did she want it to lead to?

For all the smooth confidence she projected today, and her inner narrative of potentially bedding Dana for the week, she really wasn’t sure if she was up to it. She hadn’t had sex in over a month now, maybe longer. Not since Belfast. She couldn’t when she got home just from the pain alone, and after that had begun to fade, well. She hadn’t felt like explaining a wince to someone she used for a night of release, even if she did keep most of her clothes on to hide her healing bruises.

The weight of her recent history suddenly fell upon Stella, and she knew she couldn’t do whatever it was that could happen tonight, even if it was just a friendly dinner. Reality cut through the conference haze and struck her in the head, reminding her of her exhaustion, her brokenness. Reminded her of the fact that she’d only be here for the week, but the week had just begun. No use in trying to seduce a woman when she could barely keep her eyes open.

Stella shifted on the bed just enough to reach the hotel phone.

“Front desk, how can I help you?”

“Could you put me through to Dr. Dana Scully on the third floor?”

“Ma’am, I’m not sure if—”

“It’s important, we accidentally switched credit cards today and I don’t know her room number.”

“Of course, ma’am. I’ll put you through.”

Stella waited a moment until the confused voice of Dana came through.

“Yes?”

“It’s Stella. I’m sorry, Dana, but I’m going to have to cancel tonight. Something’s… come up.”

“Oh, well.” Dana paused, and Stella could tell she was trying to figure out what she was keeping back.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again tomorrow.”

“Yes, I hope so.”

Dana sounded… disappointed? That thought struck Stella more than she expected, and she felt compelled to apologize again. “I am sorry. I promise I’m not blowing you off.”

“No, of course, Stella. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.” A pause. “So this is for the best, after all.”

That felt too much like a goodbye for Stella. She knew how this went. In fact, she was a pro at brushing people off before they got too close, or before she got hurt. They needed concrete plans.

“Well, have a good n—”

Stella cut her off. “What’s your first lecture in the morning? Maybe we chose similarly again.”

A pause of surprise. “Oh! Um, let me check.” Dana put the phone down, likely to find her binder with her schedule. 

Stella didn’t care if they aligned or not – she would be following Dana’s schedule again. 

“I’m going to ‘Standing Up for the Victims: When to Advocate for Those Who Can’t’ first tomorrow. It’s a panel, and there should be some good stories…” she trailed off, stopping her speech before she began to ramble.

“I’ll meet you there. Back row again?”

“That sounds great, Stella.”

“Mmm-hmm, see you then.”

Both paused for a second, content with the silence, and then they hung up.

-

Scully hung up with a slight smile on her face, but confusion hung in the air. From how Stella reacted earlier, how she pulled her aside after the last lecture, well. Something about her was compelling to Scully.

At first, at the beginning of the day, it was just simple curiosity. It was luck, or chance, that they were planning to go to the same lectures. But it wasn’t a problem for Scully – Stella was great. She’d made her laugh more than once, snickering at other conferences goers. She’d held Scully in rapt attention more than once with her stories, and while she’d been surprised when Stella invited her to dinner, there was a burgeoning excitement inside her. Maybe it was the shock of electricity she got when Stella had touched her arm. Maybe it was just connecting with another human being after so long.

When she thought about it, this was the most exciting day she’d had in over two years, since Mulder died.

The thought of him didn’t hurt as much now. She thought about him every day, how could she not, but it was a little easier now. In the beginning, every thought of his smile, his touch, sent her into a spiral. It was debilitating, even as she worked through the stages of grief, as she struggled to believe, to come to terms with her life without him. Tall, dark-haired men on the street made her duck in to alleyways and cry. She would avoid moving his things in the house one moment, and then gather all of his clothing in the bed with her the next, not moving for days.

It was the hardest thing she’d ever gone through, infinitely worse than cancer, worse than anything. But as she regained her strength, her inner drive to live and work flickered back to life. The flame had grown larger and smaller over the months, but it never went away.

It was true that every day it was a little brighter, but it had stagnated in recent months. She was just… working. She was functioning as a good medical examiner, a fine daughter, an okay human. She went to work, went to church on occasion, went to the grocery store. But, she realized with a start, she’d felt more alive in the last ten hours, talking with Stella, than she had in months.

What to do with that information, she had no idea. All she knew was that tomorrow, she’d meet Stella at the first lecture and that with any luck, they’d spend the day together again.


	5. Two Apologies

_ICC, Los Angeles, November 2010_

Another day at the conference went by in a blur. The conference did, anyway. All that Dana was really able to focus on was Stella, and her company. They were quiet for the first few sessions, an air of tension or nervousness from an unknown source keeping them silent as they ate free bagels, drank horrible coffee, and listened to a few interesting panels. But things relaxed soon and before she knew it, Scully was again having fun with her new friend.

_God_ , she thought. She hadn’t had a new friend in… years. A decade.

Quickly, in the way of how time flies when you’re enjoying yourself, the last session she’d had scheduled ended, and it was barely four in the afternoon.

“So, dinner?” Scully asked Stella before they left the last conference room. “Or has something come up again?” She said it in a joking manner, but was a little worried that she’d be rejected. It was a silly thought, though. It wasn’t as if Stella had been avoiding her, or had openly hated their day. In fact, she was sure that Stella was enjoying this time as much as she was – but Scully just wasn’t sure how to do this… social thing, anymore. She felt like she was pushing it. She felt a little ridiculous even trying.

“Yes. Dinner.” Stella thought for a moment, gathering her things. “How does the hotel restaurant sound to you? I had their room service last night.”

Scully let out a sigh and relaxed a little. “That sounds great. I’ll, um, meet you there?”

“At six?”

Scully nodded.

“I’ll make the reservation. See you then.”

With a slight touch to Scully’s arm, Stella walked – no, she _sauntered_ – away from her, leaving Scully mildly stunned at the look she’d just received. What was this woman’s story, for heaven’s sake?

Scully walked back to her room in deep thought, reflecting on the two days at the conference. She felt herself recede into her mind again, it had been too long since she’d spent the day with a friend, she was out of practice. She’d learned some things at the conference after all, and refreshed herself on others. But the main event in her mind had been spending time with Stella.

Stella was… intoxicating. She filled the room when she needed to, commanded the attention of everyone near and far. But she had the uncanny ability to recede to the shadows, to be unobtrusive and retreat into her own world. The last two days, that world had always included Dana in it as well.

Scully couldn’t remember feeling this type of connection with someone before. It was… honestly, Scully struggled for the words to describe it. It was easy and intimidating all at once, because they clicked immediately. There was no struggle, no conflict. For lack of a better term, she was incredibly attracted to Stella. To her personality, her clothes, her laugh. To the way she smirked at Scully, somehow conveying an entire comment about a lecturer or peer with a glance. Stella was attractive, and gorgeous, and Scully’s mind was caught on the way her hair fell just so on her silk shirt, creating a perfect triangle of shadow over her collarbone…

Scully suddenly came to, standing in the middle of her hotel room and wondering how she got there.

Her collarbone? What was she thinking? She shook off the thought (or tried to, as the image of said collarbone only became more prominent in her mind’s eye) and decided to take a shower, having more than enough time to freshen up from a day of conferencing. Besides, who knew how long she and Stella would dine that night. As she lay out new clothing on her bed for dinner, a smart high waisted skirt and a lower cut silky shirt of her own, she wondered where this week would take her.

She’d come to the conference fully prepared to be alone all week, to diligently take notes and make nice with the professionals in her field. But Stella had somehow hijacked her plans, insinuating herself into Scully’s past two days with an ease she hadn’t known was possible. Dana found that she didn’t mind. Having a friend at one of these things was always helpful, and Stella, well, Stella was something else. Something else, indeed.

Scully pinned up her hair and got into the shower, brow still furrowed in thought. Stella. Stella Gibson. Stella Gibson’s unnaturally perfect and alluring collarbones.

She wondered what Stella was doing right then, if she’d already made the reservation. Maybe she was showering too, or maybe relaxing in her room; curling her hair, admiring herself in the mirror. She wondered about Stella, in general. They hadn’t had time to talk about themselves yet, only the little, easy things to disclose. Scully found herself thinking about how to tell her about everything, about how to convey a lifetime into a conversation. Scully found that she wanted Stella to know about her.

Scully wondered if Stella was thinking about her, too, and then chided herself at the thought. Of all the adolescent, school-girl crush things to think about. Wait.

Oh my.

-

Stella Gibson was carefully choosing which blouse to change into when the realization hit her. She had a _crush_ on Dana Scully. A full-blown, _I want to get to know you_ , crush. Not that this was entirely unprecedented, of course, but it was definitely unexpected. If anything, Stella had planned on, well, _using_ Dana to sort of get back on her feet, sexually.

Suddenly, she realized she couldn’t do that at all.

_No_ , a voice taunted her from within, _no, you can’t use her, Stella, because you’ve got a_ crush _._ _Like a teenager._ This was not the plan, this was far from any plan she could’ve had, had she been thinking this far ahead. Because instead of lusting after Dana Scully, she had an irrepressible urge to _court_ her.

She decided on a dark blouse to pair with the dark pants she’d worn all day. It was flattering to her figure, but made her feel safe. Friendly armor with the side benefit of being entrancing. Just what she needed.

As she took a shower, Stella was overcome with a sense of calm. The burgeoning anxiety within her drained away. She would have dinner with Dana tonight, and maybe drinks after, and maybe more after that. Or maybe not. But she would certainly like to try. And having the urge to _try_ at all was something to be celebrated.

Stella arrived at the hotel restaurant a few minutes early and sat at their reserved table by the windows. She didn’t have to wait long for Dana to show up, and she almost stood at her appearance. A tight, flattering skirt and a low cut, silky shirt adorned her _new friend_ and Stella took a small delight in dragging her eyes over the new ensemble.

“Hi,” stated Dana as she sat. Stella watched as she took a sip of water and grabbed the menu, nervous energy making her hide her face.

They made small talk through waiting on their meal, but Stella changed topics when their food arrived, wanting to know more about Dana.

“What’s life in D.C. like for you? I’ve only been once.”

“Oh,” Dana thought for a moment, taking a sip of wine. She hadn’t talked about herself much in a long time. “Well, now it’s pretty quiet. I work about six days a week, in a basement… with dead bodies. So. Quiet.”

Stella hummed in response, a smile ticking up the side of her mouth. “Family? You said they all lived here – are you from this coast?”

“I was born in Maryland, but we moved a lot. Every few years.” Dana took a bite of her pasta and chewed thoughtfully, not quite knowing what to say. “My dad was navy. We spent a lot of time in San Diego, and now my brother is permanently stationed here. Mom moved to be close to him and his family a few years ago.”

“And you never thought of moving here too?”

“No.” Dana looked up, finding the curious eyes of her dinner mate. “I’ve just… I’ve lived in D.C. for 20 years. I like it there.”

Stella hummed again, wondering if it would be appropriate to ask about her home life, if she had any relationships, if she was open to relationships with women, but didn’t want to come across as an interrogator. Luckily, Dana took the silence as her turn to ask.

“Are you from London?”

“Yes. My family has lived there for generations, I suppose. I never saw reason to move.”

-

An hour and a half, a shared slice of cheesecake, and a bottle of wine later, Dana was following Stella into her room.

“Sorry about the mess, didn’t think I’d have company.”

“Oh, well I can go if you want,” Dana stuttered, feeling unnaturally warm from the wine.

“No!” Stella said a little too loudly. “No, I told you I have wine, I invited you here. Just, let me—” she paused as she straightened the sheets on the bed, “here. Kick off your shoes, let me get the glasses.”

Both women didn’t bother messing with the chairs and table in the corner, thinking that the bed was the most comfortable option anyway. Both thought other things about the bed too, like how they’d be very close to each other, and how their shoulders would likely touch, and they would naturally get closer and closer as the evening went on.

Dana was drunk, and she knew it. She reflected, briefly as Stella poured wine in hotel glasses, that the last time she’d been drunk it had lasted three days and she’d just buried her husband.

Overall, this was a much better experience, and Dana was content to see what would happen this night with her new friend. In her new friend’s bed. Vaguely, she hoped she wouldn’t end up puking, or feeling sick, what with all the alcohol.

-

Stella felt, as she poured the wine, that maybe getting even more tipsy was not the best call. Hadn’t she wanted to _court_ Dana? Getting her drunk and bedding her was not in the agenda of normal dating, she thought. At least not until a few weeks in.

Stella settled in next to Dana, careful not to spill any wine, and was immediately at a loss for words. What was she supposed to say next, anyway? They’d covered the chitchat earlier, the where-are-you-from and what-do-you-do. Usually, Stella didn’t have to make that much talk before she was in bed and halfway to climax.

She was in bed, anyway. But she wasn’t halfway anywhere.

They sat in silence for a little while, sighing and sipping at their wine, making little noises and adjusting to be more comfortable.

“Why are you so quiet?” Dana finally asked, taking a sip that ended up more as a gulp, the bottom of her glass getting closer after the prolonged silence. This was the girl’s night she hadn’t had in all her adult life, and she fell hard into the temptations around her.

“Don’t know. I usually can’t seem to shut up.” Stella took a too-big breath and tried to focus on the wall across from them. “I haven’t had this much to drink in a long time.”

“Oh,” considered Dana. “Well, I think you talk… a perfectly normal amount. Really.”

It was the point of a drunken conversation where nothing could be said, or added, that would make any real sense. Dana suddenly gave up on sitting upright and fell into Stella’s side, the arm holding her wine hilariously cocked to keep it safe.

Stella looked at Dana, her friend that was now much closer to her face.

“You have gorgeous eyes, Dana. They’re like… the ocean,” she thought. Well, she was intending on only thinking, but it came out of her mouth in a way that closely resembled speaking out loud.

“Thank you,” replied Dana, intentionally keeping their eye contact. She liked that Stella liked her eyes, and she made them a little wider just because. “I really like your hair, now that we’re talking compliments. It’s so… wavy and pretty. And it’s just the right length.”

Dana performed a complex maneuver that involved leaning heavily over Stella’s body to set her glass on the bedside table and then leaning back, all without succumbing to any dizziness while simultaneously settling closer to Stella’s warmth. Her hand now free, the other one behind Stella’s back, she reached up and touched a curl of hair.

Both of them suddenly felt a little out of control, a little overwhelmed with drink and other intoxicants. Stella smiled a little wider at Dana, knowing suddenly that they were about to kiss, and wondering at her night. She was momentarily concerned for the tiny amount of wine left in her glass and the white bedsheets, but found she didn’t really care. Every time she’d been drunk in the last decade, it had been alone and awful. This was entirely different.

“You know,” started Stella, overly conscious of Dana’s fingers playing in her hair. “I’ve had a horrible year. Really, really awful, when it comes down to it.”

“But?” Dana teased out with a smile.

“But tonight might have reversed it all, brought the balance of bad and good into alignment again… you know? You are so… warm. You know?”  
Dana knew. She hoped anyway.

“Stella,” Dana said, her tone changing. “Stella, Stella, Stella.” Dana took a deep breath and remarked casually, “Stella, you’re so beautiful.”

Stella sways slightly where she sits, even as anchored as she is by Dana’s body. She thinks she’s maybe a little more drunk than she originally thought, and then leans forward decisively and kisses her new friend full on the mouth.

“Mmmpfh,” replies Dana. Stella agrees with a hum.

The hand in Stella’s hair draws up to her jaw, holding and directing it as Dana opens her mouth. Stella retaliates, sucking Dana’s lower lip into her mouth, biting slightly. There was nothing hesitant about their mouths, jumping directly into full on movie-style passion.

Stella tasted Dana on her tongue and wanted more, her own hands snaking around to pull Dana closer, further on her, to grasp at her ribs and back. They tilted their heads, back and forth, as their tongues tussled.

Stella broke away for breath, but was instantly drawn back in to Dana’s dewy skin, heated with wine-flush and arousal. She kissed down her jaw, using her tongue as needed to keep drawing out the little sounds Dana kept making.

“ _Dana,”_ Stella breathed against her pulse point, then latched on.

Dana’s breath hitched, and then she froze.

And then she started to cry.

At the first sob, painful sounding and without enough air, Stella pulled back completely. Her hands came off Dana, and she backed away to where they were barely in contact on the bed, shocked and concerned.

“Dana—”

“I’m sorry,” Dana choked out, her one hand covering her mouth and the other on her chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Dana, what – are you okay?”

“I need to go. I’ve—” Dana scrambled back off the bed, grabbing her purse and her shoes, not bothering to put them on.

_“Dana—”_

“I’m sorry.”

Dana left without another word, but Stella heard the echoing sob as she shut the door. She was left, kneeling on the bed, hand outstretched, wondering – what the hell had just happened?


	6. How do you Communicate a Lifetime of Sorrow?

_ Los Angeles, November 2010 _

Stella was hurting. Aching, really.

After Dana fled her room, fled her bed, their kiss, it was all Stella could do to not chase after her. She always got what she wanted, she always followed up and got her answers. She would never, ever force Dana to have sex, but part of her resented Dana leaving so quickly, and in tears. A bigger part of her knew that feeling was a defense against rejection.

Being abandoned with no idea what she’d done wrong – simply put, it hurt.

There was a physical ache left behind as well, manifesting between her ribs on her left side, reawakening a healing pain. She’d strained the muscles as she kissed Dana, the alcohol making her feel limber. The company making her feel.

She wanted to shut it off.

There was a more urgent ache between her legs, this one hot and needy, still hoping for relief that Stella knew wouldn’t come tonight. “Dammit,” muttered Stella. She fell on her back, uncomfortable atop the rumpled sheets and in her clothing. “Dammit, dammit, dammit.”

Should she go and find Dana? She was just a floor down. Stella would have to knock on all of the doors until Dana answered or told her to leave. No, she couldn’t do that. She also wasn’t sure if she’d be welcomed, or that she’d even have the strength to confront her in a fight.

Feeling drunk and not a little sorry for herself, and even more concerned about Dana, Stella lurched to her feet and walked toward the bathroom, wanting nothing more than to wash the night from her skin.

Maybe tomorrow, answers would come.

-

Dana couldn’t stop crying. She barely managed to hold it together as she raced down the stairs to her room, and she’d spent the last several minutes curled on the floor of the bathroom trying to pull herself together.

It must’ve been shock, or cognitive dissonance, combined with wine, to have jarred her so harshly. Her sobs were hurting her ribs and she couldn’t breathe, but she could finally think through her tears.

Embarrassment rose through the confusion – God, she just kissed Stella, was kissed by her, and then ran away. In tears, no less. It was inexcusable and wrong, and Scully felt awful over it. But she still couldn’t stop crying.

Mulder. Oh, it hurt, the thought of him, of loving him so, so much – to be without him now. The dull (sometimes sharp) ache inside of her after his death was permanent, but she couldn’t live her life a sad and lonely widow forever.

This reaction was one of shock, one of permanence of Mulder’s absence. She would never kiss him again, never be kissed by him. Scully was under no delusion whom she was kissing, but when Stella said her name something within her snapped and unleashed a flood that Dana didn’t even know she was holding back.

Stella – and Dana smiled at the thought of her – Stella was the first spark of light in the dull world she’d been in for two years. Kissing Stella wasn’t a betrayal to his memory. Scully felt peace, deep down, that Mulder was with his sister in starlight, watching over her and smiling. He would be happy, she thought, that she was trying to be happy again. She had to believe that.

Her tears halted, making way for a premature hangover born of dehydration and strain. Her whole body ached and it hurt to breathe, but as she reached to turn on the shower she realized her lips still tingled with the memory of Stella’s.

Stella was…amazing. She was gorgeous and funny and smart and a hell of a kisser. And Scully had some explaining, and apologizing, to do.

Right now she needed some time to recover

-

Stella Gibson usually prided herself on keeping her commitments and being on time, and twice this week she’d failed them. Once, by canceling on Dana for a dinner she instigated, and now for not going to the morning conference sessions she had signed up for.

She wondered if Dana was going today, or if she too was nursing a hangover and hurt feelings.

One-night stands and intentional romantic disappointments used to be Stella’s norm. A few years ago, it was every weekend and a few week nights. It was control, pure and simple. Stella couldn’t help the victims in her job, but she could assert some sort of power over who she took to bed.

But this past year, it seemed like everything had changed. Her life before Belfast had been increasingly empty and isolated. Her position within the Met had shifted, her friends had grown distant, and she had felt like the tides were shifting toward something dangerous.

And then Belfast.

She’d been there longer and longer, frantically trying to save women, to convict a killer and torturer. Her mind was haunted, her body still hurt. And here she was in Los Angeles, feeling like she’d just been put through a war and come out the other side, alone, confused, and battered.

What was she searching for with Dana? Comfort? Simple companionship? Was she just desperate for affection, or was it genuinely more that she wanted with Dana?

A ‘something more’ that would last a week, a ‘something more’ that was already doomed to fail?

Stella contemplated this in the hotel bed as she ate a late breakfast and jotted some things down in her journal. She thought about skipping the rest of the conference, avoiding Dana, and exploring some of California before her flight back home, but that idea left her feeling empty inside. She liked Dana, dammit, and she wasn’t going to leave without talking to her again.

If she learned one thing from her time on the force, from all the horrible things she’d seen and been a part of, it was to chase happiness and not let it go without a fight.

-

Dana Scully didn’t give a single thought to the conference. She felt… well, better technically, but also physically a little sick. She hadn’t had drinks like this in ages, and even longer since she had a first kiss so hot and powerful it turned her into a sobbing mess.

It was good to joke about it, she thought.

She slept in, partially for self-preservation through most of her hangover, and also knowing she wouldn’t be attending the conference that day. She killed time in her hotel room, needlessly straightening and watching mind-numbing television. She updated her boss Theo on the conference, and checked her email ten times over. Scully changed her outfit twice and then stood in the middle of her room for minutes, psyching herself up to talk to Stella.

Grabbing her purse and room key, Dana left her room and walked up the stairs to room 412 and knocked.  _ Expect nothing, Dana. Expect anger, or tears, or a slap in the face.  _ Scully rehearsed her speech hurriedly in her head again, wondering if it was enough, if she read this situation right.

The door swung open and there stood Stella, clad in a long silk robe and messy hair that still managed to look sexy. Dana’s breath caught – Stella was so beautiful. And then her heart sank at the look on her face. It was of trepidation, then stony defense.

“Did you want to come in, Dana?”

At Stella’s words, Dana realized she was staring and quickly walked in.

“Listen, Stella, I’m sorry about last night.”

Stella stood near her door, watching as Dana fidgeted.

“It—it took me off guard, and I had been drinking. Not that that is an excuse! For, um… I think my emotions were just all on the surface, and, well. I obviously have some issues I’m working through. But I really enjoyed…” Dana finally looked to Stella, her eyes having darted everywhere else in the room, and tried not to blush. For God’s sake, she felt like a teenager. “I really liked kissing you, Stella, despite evidence to the contrary. And spending the last two days together. And I’d like to take you out to dinner tonight – or now – somewhere outside of this hotel – and try to explain and make it up to you.”

Stella smiled, and Dana sighed in relief.

“Of course. I would love to, Dana. Now why don’t you sit before you fall over, and I’ll get dressed.”

Dana gave a shaky laugh and sat awkwardly on the edge of Stella’s bed, trying not to think about what happened here last night, or how she ran away from it. She watched as Stella selected an outfit and closed herself in the bathroom. Then she stifled the urge to follow her into the bathroom at the sound of the shower.

-

Stella took a little too long to decide how many buttons on her shirt should be unbuttoned.

She showered and styled her hair quickly, dressed and put on some minimal eye makeup, but she was stuck, buttoning and unbuttoning one hole on her shirt, back and forth, toeing the line between slutty and reserved.

They were quiet on the way to the cab, and quiet in the car, each looking out their respective window at the lights of LA.

Stella looked at her hands for a moment to gather her resolve. When in America, she thought. Maybe it was time to open up again. Put into practice what the mandatory psych evals told her to do. A trial run, with her new friend. She took a quiet, deep breath and began to speak.

“You asked, yesterday, why I was so quiet.”

“Stella it’s fine. You definitely don’t owe me any explanation – ”

“No, no. I do. You should know some things about me, as well.” Stella took a breath before continuing. “I used to be very good at judging people. And then, as it turned out, I wasn’t. I’ve made some bad decisions, with my trust recently. Which is part of the reason I’ve been so wary around you, but also so… hopeful.”

Scully glanced at her in the back of the cab, intensely curious about her new friend.

“But,” Stella continued with her usual grace, with an added half smile. “I believe that you’re to be trusted, Dana Scully.”

Scully smiled, remembering fondly another friend who took a little while to trust her. It was a choice, a vulnerability. Something Scully took very seriously.

“Thank you,” she replied. It was a simple reply, but it spoke volumes.

In the restaurant, Stella continued to take the lead in talking, sensing that Dana needed more time to begin to talk – to really talk.

“I don’t know why, but I feel like…”

“Like what?”

Stella sighed, sipping her expensive wine. That would be her only glass that evening. “Like we have a connection, of sorts. Something I can’t explain and it, well. It draws me to you.”

Dana blushed and focused on her food, but Stella could tell she was smiling.

“I’m sorry if that sounded odd, but I don’t quite know how to explain it.”

Scully watched Stella stiffen in her seat, started to watch the involuntary walls come down around her. She knew exactly what that looked like because she felt the same connection to this woman, who she had only known a little while.

“I feel it too,” she replied. At Stella’s look she continued. “No, really, I do. It feels like we know each other, like there’s immediate trust. I mean… last night. It’s rare.”

They shared a small smile over their meal, both warming at the words of the other. It was rare. It felt fragile.

-

They lingered over their dessert and last sips of wine, making quiet comments and compliments, getting to know little things through questions and jokes. Stella could tell Dana was hovering over a subject change, and she decided to probe a little.

“Tell me about him, Dana.” Stella knew it was a man, a former husband or lover. But she didn’t know the when or why or how Dana had been hurt by him.

Dana hesitated, just for a second, and then pushed through. She sat up straighter, her feet firmly planted on the floor under the table. This is partially why she came here tonight, after all.

“When I think about the day it happened, the day my husband died, I always remember how beautiful it was. We had woken up early. The birds were loud. It was going to be a hot day. And it was.”

Stella did her best to be nonchalant, not wanting to make Dana feel pressured or judged.

“You see, we lived in this little, unremarkable house out in the country. We’d been through hell, fighting for years and years in the FBI, fighting for our lives and the lives of everyone we loved. And it was so peaceful, out there.” Dana paused to drink some water, checking in with Stella with a glance.

“I used to feel really, really angry,” Scully continued, knowing it was time to share this part. That if she didn’t, she never would. “Angry that Mulder didn’t die in some large blaze of glory. That, instead of dying to save someone else, he went so quickly and for no reason at all.” Scully smiled a hollow smile, a smile to fill the space. Stella nodded along, showing her support as Scully spoke of her life for the past two years.

“And then I tried to imagine what scenario would suit him best, leave him heroic. Maybe he saved someone from a bomb blast, a child perhaps. Shot in the line of duty. Murdered by a serial killer but left enough evidence behind for us to catch him. Crazy things, like that.” Scully looked off, staring at a point in midair behind Stella’s shoulder. “And then I realized that when Mulder died,” her voice broke slightly but she continued. “When he passed away in my arms, that was the absolute best way for it to happen. With me. Peacefully.”

She turned her head and made eye contact with Stella, tears brimming behind her lids.

“He wasn’t scared, Stella. I think about that every day. When he was in my arms, I could tell the exact moment that he was going where I couldn’t follow, and he looked at me and he wasn’t scared. He may not have believed in God, but I absolutely believe he is with his sister and he is at peace.” Dana sniffed and held back her tears, but accepted the offer of Stella’s hand across the table.

“And the only way I can honor his memory now is by being happy. He’d always say that to me, when we were alone, talking about our life together, he’d say ‘Scully, are you happy?’ and I can still hear him ask, all the time.” Scully paused, to breathe and collect herself, sipping at the wine as if it would bring her strength. “And for two years, I’ve always said no,” she whispered, leaving the implication hanging between them.

The silence swelled between them, heavy with admission, with a new and fragile trust.

“Well, Dana,” Stella begins, brave enough for the both of them, too brave for her own good sometimes, “are you happy?”

Scully smiled a watery smile and tightened her grasp on Stella’s hand. “I think I’m learning to be happy again.”


	7. A Real Vacation

_Los Angeles, November 2010_

The end of the evening was the first in which they both felt good about how they left it. No tears, so mixed messages, no feelings of panic or regret.

Stella was smiling lightly through dinner and the ride back to the hotel, and all the way to Dana’s door. A trust had begun to blossom between them, something that would outlast the pocket-world of this conference, this week – something that tugged ever so slightly at Stella’s bruised ribs, at Dana’s aching heart.

“So, this is your room number,” Stella flirted. “I was afraid that I would have to knock on all the doors to find you earlier today.”

Dana hid an uncontrollable flush of embarrassment and flattery behind her hair and turned to Stella, wanting nothing more than to let her in but knowing that they should probably leave their evening at the door. They both needed sleep, restful sleep, and they had plans tomorrow, after all. “Yes, well. Anytime.” Dana gestured awkwardly to the door, suddenly at a loss as to what to do next.

Stella stopped Dana’s fidgeting with a hand to her shoulder. “Dana, if I may,” she paused.

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you again?” Stella’s question was sincere and gentle, lilting slightly in her British voice, not pressuring Dana either way.

“Oh,” Dana smiled quickly and uncontrollably before answering. “Yes, please.”

Stella leaned in and caught Dana under the chin with her hand, dragging her lips across Dana’s gently before capturing one. The kiss was controlled but filled with heat, and Stella was the one to extricate herself from it. She wanted more, Dana wanted more, but Stella felt that it wasn’t the right time.

Any other night, with any other person, Stella would’ve pushed for more, more, until she was satisfied, but it was easy to break away with Dana. There was a promise of more, of better, of a deeper connection. It was a healing kiss for both of them. Small steps forward, steps away from their past, their sorrow, their old habits and regrets.

“Right,” Stella breathed, smiling tremulously, taking in the air around them, the scent of possibility. “See you tomorrow?”

Dana only nodded and let herself in her room, but not without another, albeit quick, kiss to Stella’s soft lips.

-

“… in that case, it’s up to the division lead to defer responsibility of the body – or bodies – to local or regional…”

Dana caught Stella’s eye and motioned to her notes on the table. She had to hold in a snort at the crude stick drawing of what was obviously the speaker they were being forced to listen to in a morgue with two other stick figures holding large knives nearby. On closer inspection, they appeared to be her and Dana, going off hair length alone.

Stella leaned in close, her own notepad blank, and spoke in Dana’s ear. “Want to get out of here?” She could feel Dana push down the automatic teacher’s pet reflex as she shifted in her seat. 

“Yes, please.” The way she said it made them both flash back to the kiss in the hall the night before, and the urge to flee the beige conference room swelled.

Quickly and quietly, just as they were both trained to act when entering a household with a criminal inside, they gathered their things and slipped out the back.

“I don’t think I heard one thing he said,” admitted Dana, filling the silence of escape. “I’ve had corpses more entertaining.”

Stella smiled, trying to come up with a plan. They had already made plans for dinner, but it was only mid-morning. Anything inside would lead to something… else. Exploring the area seemed like the best idea. 

“How far away from the ocean do you think we are?” Stella’s heart skipped a beat. At the end of her question, Dana had turned to her with a full smile, but what really hit her was the look in Dana’s eyes. It was so light and excited that Stella could feel the energy emanating from her.

“I have no idea – but let’s go.”

They split up briefly to change out of their drab conference clothing and in to something more casual, and within 20 minutes they were in a cab headed toward some place called Manhattan Beach.

“I know everyone goes to Santa Monica, or even Venice Beach,” chattered Dana excitedly, shifting things around in a large bag she carried on her shoulder, “but I’ve always loved Manhattan Beach. It’s—well, you’ll see.”

Stella kept her thoughts to herself – wasn’t there a Manhattan on the east coast? – and tried to enjoy the ride, taking in the foreign sights of Los Angeles through the window. She’d never seen the Pacific Ocean before, and she was looking forward to a California Beach.

After a few minutes of comfortable, if excited, silence from Dana, Stella felt her hand being enveloped. She looked over and noticed Dana’s tension, even as she faced out her own window. This simple act, holding hands in a cab headed toward the beach, was something of a step for them. It was a connection in broad daylight. It felt right.

-

Stella had never been to a place quite like it. The weather was perfect, sunny but not blistering, the breeze a perfect balm to walking up and down the lines of shops, boutiques, and local art galleries mixed in with chain stores. They started at the inland end of the shopping area, heading ever closer to the glittering ocean as Dana pulled her into more than a few storefronts, stopping to run her fingertips along beautiful sea shells and flit between flowing dresses.

Yes, Stella was drawn to her, in more ways than one. Dana felt safe to her, a respite of sweet warmth against a cold, unrelenting world. Someone who knows what her life is like, can understand at least in part how her mind works, how its broken and strong at the same time.

Dana is only stronger because of her brokenness, in spite of it. She’s a woman who has had a long and dangerous career, full of mythic highs and tragic, heartbreaking lows. Stella doesn’t know everything about her yet, but she feels compelled to find out.

Stella was the next to pull Dana in to a café nestled between another art gallery and pop-up boutique.

“I’m starved, and in desperate need of caffeine.”

Dana half gestured toward the beach, the rest of the shops, but stopped with Stella’s look. “You’re right.”

Stella relented, following Dana to the short line in front of the register. “You know, we have as long as we want here. I won’t drag you back to the hotel,” she said while perusing the chalkboard menu bolted above the countertop.

Dana hummed, her lightening eyes finding the drip she preferred and a salad wrap in a display case. “I haven’t really been on vacation in a… while. Not used to having time like this.”

Stella simply touched the back of her hand in what she hoped was an understanding motion.

They took their lunches outside, finding a bench half in the shade.

-

“Hmmm,” Dana sounded out around her chicken salad wrap. “Are there palm trees in England?”

Stella tucked a smile at the question and stabbed her fork at an elusive lettuce leaf. “In some places, yes. Along the south coast. But not like here.”

They both stared up at the palms lining the streets, at once a tourist attraction and a natural phenomenon.

“When I was a kid, I always thought they were kind of ugly,” Scully reminisced. “I remember feeling disappointed that they didn’t match the cartoons, that they were big and round, so far up instead of shady and low like an umbrella.”

Stella smiled at the tiny memory and they lapsed into a comfortable silence, commenting every once and a while on someone’s interesting fashion choice, or how nice the breeze felt.

Lunch quickly finished, they picked up their bags and continued down the street at a more leisurely pace. Stella was drawn to the window of an expensive-looking boutique and Dana quickly persuaded her to go in and try on a few dresses. They passed through trinket stores and Dana bought Stella a tiny snow globe with a palm tree – “See, this is what they should all look like!” – in it. It was garish and not remotely Stella’s aesthetic, but it was perfect.

Just after the rush of the afternoon crowd, they arrived at the shoreline. Dana heard Stella’s breath catch at the sight of the ocean, and felt her own heart tug with the memories of the beach, family vacations, her father telling tales of life on the water.

Stella turned to her and gave the most dazzling smile – simple, pure happiness. Dana took her hand and they walked to the small pier leading into the ocean. A small aquarium encircled by boardwalk stood at the end of the pier and they walked all around it, taking in the view of ocean all around. The breeze made Stella’s hair fly wild, but she didn’t mind. Dana found herself looking more at Stella than at the ocean. It was hard to imagine her in damp, cold England.

“This suits you,” she commented, just as Stella took a deep breath of ocean air.

“What does?”

“Sun. The beach. That gorgeous smile.” Dana only flushed a little as she complimented Stella, but it felt so good. This felt so good.  
Stella just smiled further at the remark and they made their way back to the beach, stopping to take off their sandals before traversing on sand.

A few dozen feet from the water, Dana stopped and reached in the massive bag she’d been carrying all day. It had fit all of her purchases, and she had to dig a little for the thin blanket she’d brought from the hotel, one she’d used on the beach visiting her family the week before. Stella ended up holding a few packages as she dug, and the bag itself as Dana situated the blanket on the beach, sitting with a sigh and her hands held high to take back her things.

She left out a brown sack that Stella recognized from the bakery. Prompted by a raised eyebrow, Dana said opened the bag and unveiled a beautiful cupcake, safe in a plastic container.

“Chocolate with strawberry icing,” Dana commented, clicking the plastic open and handing it to Stella. She pulled forks from the same bag and they leaned close over the sweet treat, leaning on each other as they watched the waves.

-

They stayed on the beach until the sun became too much, the sand too uncomfortable. Dana rose and helped Stella stand, noticing not for the first time the slight wince at the sudden movement.

She waited until they’d packed up and were back to the sidewalk before she asked carefully, “So, where does it hurt?”

As intended, Stella smiled at the cliched-doctor question before frowning slightly. Her hand was quickly encircled in Dana’s. Supportive, but not pushing.  
“You don’t have to tell me. I just worry.”

Stella waited a beat before answering, not because she questioned her trust in Dana, but to figure out how to tell her what had happened. She’d only told two others, really. Her boss in her report, and her therapist. And herself, over and over in her mind. There was enough distance now, both physical and temporal, for her slight detachment to be healthy. The past was the past.

“My ribs,” she started. “They only ache slightly with big movements, a twinge.” She wriggled her free hand to convey the feeling.

“Broken?”

“No. Cracked, a deep bruise.”

Dana’s next question went unasked, but Stella went ahead. They were going back the way they came, enjoying the quieter streets and sun behind them.

“I was attacked, several weeks ago, by the perpetrator of several violent murders.” Stella tightened her grip on Dana’s hand in response to her gasp. “There’s also a faint scar above my eyebrow, now. It was an interrogation gone sideways. He wouldn’t crack, and then I came in. He had… a special attachment to me. Had built up the ‘female investigator’ he saw on the news as some sort of foil, and I knew it and used it several times in the case. But I pushed too far, used myself as the bait. I wasn’t prepared.”

Dana looked away, blinking back hot tears that were a surprise and not. The thought of what Stella had gone through. If anyone knew, even a little, of what that had been like, it was her. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Stella nodded, noticing they were walking closer, slower than just moments before. As if their momentum had run out and together, needing to regroup before forging onward once more.

Stella stopped to face Dana and kiss her, needing the contact, wanting the connection. Dana responded with a thrum of passion, just as she had at the beach when Stella had cleaned a bit of frosting off her lip.

They were in public, however, so they parted and continued, on unspoken agreement that they’d pick up where they left off once they got back.

“I’ll tell you the rest, all of it if you want, someday. But suffice it to say – I am healing, and I quite loved today.”

Dana smiled and swung the hand holding hers like she was a kid, too happy to not. “The day’s not over yet.”

They stopped at a florist, a boutique where Stella got the dress she’d been thinking of, and the bakery just before they closed for a few pastries.

They left Manhattan Beach with an armload of fresh flowers, trinkets and memories, sun-tired bodies and a selfie taken by Dana on the beach that Stella couldn’t wait to download to her phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I know, an update! Finally! It's... been a big summer you guys. But I'm back! Hopefully you won't have to wait as long for the next one!  
> Please let me know what you think about this new chapter!   
> (thanks to @sportsnightnut for the Manhattan Beach inspo forever ago)


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